Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQ524QF5KZ768EHBWQ70S1

Molly adjusted the glittery unicorn horn strapped to her head and squinted at the inflatable bounce castle swaying in the backyard. "You realize we look like we’re here to perform a magic show, not rob the place." Bill, dressed in a too-tight clown suit that made his knees creak when he walked, scratched his rainbow wig. "First of all, we *are* here to perform a magic show. Second, if anyone asks, we’re the *worst* magicians in history. That’s our cover." Molly plucked a balloon animal from the ground—a sad, lopsided giraffe—and tossed it into the bushes. "I don’t think ‘worst magicians’ is a cover. I think that’s just us." "Exactly! No one suspects the clown who can’t even twist a balloon right." Bill pulled a whoopee cushion from his pocket and blew it up with a dramatic flourish. "See? Distraction." Molly stared at the cushion. "That’s not a distraction. That’s a war crime." "Kids love fart noises." "Kids love *actual* magic, Bill. Not some guy in a sweat-stained suit honking a rubber bladder." Bill deflated the cushion with a disappointed sigh. "Fine. What’s your genius plan, then?" Molly pointed at the gift table, piled high with brightly wrapped boxes. "We wait until the cake comes out. Everyone’s distracted by sugar and singing. We swoop in, grab the loot, and vanish before the first kid starts crying." Bill frowned. "That’s… actually not terrible." "Thank you." "But what if the parents notice?" Molly shrugged. "Then we say we’re taking the presents to ‘make them disappear’ as part of the act." Bill’s eyes lit up. "Oh, that’s good. That’s *really* good." "See? I *do* have ideas." "Yeah, but now I’m worried you’re the brains of this operation." Molly grinned. "Too late to back out now. You already signed the clown contract." Bill groaned. "I *knew* I should’ve read the fine print." A harried-looking mom in a "World’s Okayest Parent" T-shirt hurried past them, balancing a tray of juice boxes. "You two! The kids are getting restless. Can you start the show?" Molly clapped her hands together. "Absolutely! We were just—uh—setting up our *very* special magic trunk." Bill nodded eagerly. "It’s a *big* trunk. Holds a lot of… magic." The mom didn’t even glance at them as she shoved a juice box into Molly’s hand. "Great. Just keep them from climbing the walls until cake time." As she walked off, Bill leaned in. "Okay, new plan. We *do* have a trunk. A big one. We fill it with presents, then ‘magically’ make it disappear." Molly sipped the juice box and winced. "That’s apple. I hate apple." "Focus, Molly." "Right. Trunk. Presents. Disappearing." She tossed the juice box into a bush. "But if we get caught, I’m telling them you forced me into this." Bill gasped. "I would *never*." "You made me wear this unicorn horn." "It was *your* idea to accessorize!" Molly adjusted the horn. "It’s *festive*." Bill opened his mouth to argue, but the sound of a kid wailing cut him off. They turned to see a toddler face-down in the grass, screaming about a lost balloon. Molly sighed. "We’re doomed." Bill grinned. "Nah. That’s just our opening act." He pulled a handful of confetti from his sleeve and tossed it into the air. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, prepare to be *amazed*."